Love on the Tennis Court by Louann Carroll

​At twenty-two, Ava lived her life in two speeds. Too fast in her car. Too careful with her heart. The first one everyone noticed. The latter she hid well.

“Slow down, Speed Racer,” her friends yelled as she slid into the parking lot of the tennis courts five minutes late and somehow still carrying an iced coffee she hadn’t finished. She tried to get out of the car, tripped, and the coffee went flying. She glanced at the ceiling of her car. Taupe streaks dripped down, across the steering wheel and onto the floor. By the Grace of God, it missed her tennis outfit.

She grinned. Not showing a hint of embarrassment.

As always, people saw her smile first. Her timing was perfect, her jokes effortless, but her smile, the one everyone commented on, made strangers assume she was fearless. Spilled coffee? No big deal. Life goes on.

In actuality, she was desperately shy. She was awkward with compliments and uncertain about meeting new people. Especially after her last heartbreak. The breakup ended badly. It wasn’t dramatic in public, but messy in the places nobody saw. A broken heart, crumbling self-confidence, and pain. Her heart remembered when promises were broken, and the calls she waited for stopped cold. It was a complete ghost of her humanness. She wasn’t even worthy enough for a text.

The worst part was that she had been in love. Was still in love. Months later, she still caught herself reaching for her phone. Checking for texts. There was no closure, no sad partings, nothing. She was just, in her mind, unworthy.

So, she did what she always did. She drove too fast. She played tennis. She laughed louder than she felt. She concentrated on her game. She forged ahead into online classes. She took psychology, Jungian philosophy, even a dash of Freud. Each class helped. Each class, she understood more about herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t understand why she’d been ghosted.

On a warm Saturday morning, she arrived at the tennis courts with her usual brazenness. She grabbed her racket and headed toward the courts with her usual mix of confidence and invisible panic. She was a good, if not great, tennis player. Already her palms were sweaty, and she wondered how many times she’d have to say I’m sorry before the match ended.

Then she stopped, squinting her eyes. Someone new was there. Tall. Reddish-brown hair. Blue eyes. She moved closer. His eyes were the color of sparrow eggs, though she had to question herself because she wasn’t close enough to see them

The guy wasn’t movie-star perfect. No. He was better than that. He was relaxed. At ease. And as she moved closer, she could see his blue eyes through his glasses. He stood at the net talking to two older players, listening more than speaking.
When one of them laughed, he laughed too, not loud, not showing off.

Butterflies. In her stomach. Their eyes met. Ava looked away immediately. She felt as if he were kind, compassionate, and deep. She resonated with him. She adjusted the grip tape on her racket. Noting that it really didn’t need to be adjusted at all.

“Need a fourth?”

She looked up.

He was standing right there.

Close enough that she noticed his eyes weren’t bright blue, but really were the color of sparrow eggs. As she stared, she realized they had changed in the light. A sudden flush of embarrassment, and she forgot how words worked. “Uh.  Maybe. I mean yes. If… if you play.” Brilliant.

He smiled. “I can play.” He put out his hand, “I’m Daniel.”

She extended her own hand. Yup, she thought, chemistry, as flesh met flesh. But she reminded herself that there were those times when one person felt it and the other didn’t. She felt it, but looking into his eyes, she didn’t see a return of excitement. So, she drew back her hand and waited.

Nothing.

She led him onto the court and introduced him around. He was likable, affable, and definitely not intimidated. In fact, every time he looked at her, she felt like she could miss every shot and he wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was real. Or was he presenting a mask as so many people wore? Masking was something she was working on. She wanted to be her true self. If someone didn’t like her, she wanted it to be because she was real. Not just another person with a perfect mask.

She frowned slightly at herself as she lifted her racket and walked toward the open court.  

“Hey,” he said. He tossed her a ball. He asked, “Singles?”

She stared.

“Tennis singles?” Daniel laughed. A sincere, funny laugh that she got.

She answered, “No, chess,” and rolled her eyes. Funny. She liked funny.

They took opposite baselines.

Daniel served first.

The ball came fast.

Not aggressive or violent, just fast and clean. She returned the first serve, loving the sound of the tennis ball on synthetic gut. Taut, strong. She returned the shot.

Then he sent a deep forehand to her backhand. He raised a hand. “Sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No need to apologize.”

His smile widened. His teeth were straight, his lips wide and not too thick. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

She said, “Game on.”

The first few games were brutal. Sweat began to pour down Ava’s forehead onto her visor. The rim would be saturated by the time the games were over. Daniel wasn’t showing off. Which somehow made it worse. He was patient. Consistent. He returned everything.

She lost the first three games and became quieter with each one. Old thoughts started arriving. Too slow. Too awkward. She repeated I’m sorry so many times she lost count.

At 3–0 Daniel walked to the net. “Can I tell you something?”

She shrugged.

“You’re trying to win points.”

She glanced at him. “That is usually the goal.”

His eyes softened. “You stopped playing when you started judging yourself.”

That annoyed her because it felt true. She bounced the ball once. Twice. She pointed toward the back of the court, encouraging him to get ready. She served. She aced it.

Daniel blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled. Her confidence rose. Everything about her felt lighter. She forgot Daniel, she forgot the game. There she was. She loved tennis, and it began to show.

Five-all.

Six-all.

Tiebreak.

People gathered outside the fence.

Point after point.

She earned a match point with a shot that clipped the line. She held steady. She could feel the wind in her shirt, could smell the hydrangeas that bordered the court. She needed one point. Just one. She readied herself as Danel served. She returned deep.

Backhand.

Slice.

Lob.

He smashed.

She reached.

The ball floated back.

Daniel sprinted.

Stretched.

Net.

Game.

Match.

Ava won.

The court went quiet for half a second.

Then applause.

She stared. “I won?”

Daniel walked to the net, smiling. “You did.”

She met him at the net and stopped. Because she suddenly remembered she was shy and that she liked him. Then she remembered that her attempt to like people had not gone well. All her insecurities reasserted themselves.

Daniel leaned his arms on the net. “You know what I noticed?”

She swallowed. “What?”

“You smiled the whole second set.”

Her chest tightened unexpectedly. He looked at her. Not at her body or her hair, and not even like he expected anything from her. He just looked at her, and she felt safe, like she could stay with him forever. She laughed nervously. Then said, “That’s embarrassing.”

His expression softened. “No. You have a lovely smile.”

Ava looked around, expecting to see her friends hugging the gate. But everyone was gone, except for the two of them. There was a long pause. She cleared her throat, then another long pause.

Daniel smiled and asked, “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Her heart started beating faster as he walked the net around to her side. She studied his features. He wasn’t startlingly handsome. He was just lovely. He was just perfect. She nodded once.

He stepped around the net and touched her face gently. Then he kissed her. It wasn’t a dramatic kiss, nor was it reckless. It was warm. Steady. Like arriving somewhere instead of falling into something. When they were done, she looked at the ground. All the old assumptions poured in.

He touched her shoulder, and she couldn’t look up. Which made him laugh.

She covered her face. “You don't understand.”

“What?”

“I’m never going to act normal around you again.”

He smiled. “Good. I don’t want you to.” 

She glanced at him, appreciating his warm humor. 
​
Then he picked up a tennis ball and handed it to her.

“Same time next Saturday?”

​For the first time in months, she didn’t think about her ex. She didn’t rehash the breakup. She just smiled and said, “Yes."